


Wings

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension, Wingfic, magical transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 09:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12814674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Tim finds Jason's newly acquired wings irresistible.





	Wings

At first, Tim can only pause in the doorway and gape at the sight.

It's simply too incongruous. 

Too … 

The room is large and lavishly decorated. Antique furniture, soft pastel colors, a replica of a classical sculpture in one corner. There's even a piano with its lid lifted up, just next to a half-open door leading to a small balcony. 

And, in the middle of it all, stands a human-sized birdcage.

Inside, with his fingers clenched around the gilded bars, is Jason Todd.

Tim stares at him, wide-eyed, taking in the expanse of the naked chest on display, and then, rising from above Jason's broad shoulders, the arch of massive red-black wings.

Wings.

Actual, real wings.

Even awkwardly folded, they are enormous, full of a leashed power, barely fitting into the constrained space. The feathers gleam, their vibrant hues seamlessly blending in together. 

Jason glares at Tim from beneath the fall of the tangled black hair, his handsome features twisted up in a scowl, the white lenses of his domino mask narrowed. 

“Oi, Replacement,” he says. “Stop gawking and get me out of here.”

Right.

It's enough to propel Tim into action. He rushes inside, briefly examines the electronic lock on the cage. Nothing too complicated, fortunately. He will hack it open in no time.

“Did you take care of the Birdcatcher?” Jason asks as Tim gets down to work.

“Yep. Unconscious and zip-tied downstairs.” Tim looks up from his cryptographic sequencer and his gaze strays back to Jason's wings. “How did she do that?”

Jason shrugs. “Magic. Some sort of spell.” He grimaces. “Said I would make a very pretty bird.”

The lock beeps, flashes green, and the door of the cage springs open.

Jason steps outside. “Thanks, Timbo.”

And he stretches up, groaning with relief, the muscles of his back rippling, the wings flaring up in a blur of red and black. 

Tim watches, mouth dry.

An avenging angel, he thinks, transfixed. He wishes he had his camera with him to capture the wildness and the decadent beauty of the scene, all of Jason's dizzying intensity. 

Jason …

But, luckily for Tim, the moment is over. Jason lowers his arms, strides over to the table to pick up his discarded gear. Quick and efficient, he checks his guns before strapping his holsters back to his thighs. Then he reaches for his armor and his jacket, pauses with a frown, glances over his shoulder at his wings, and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Ah, fuck.” He looks up at Tim with a crooked smile. “Here, take this, Replacement.”

“Stop calling me that,” grumbles Tim, but accepts the bundle of Kevlar and leather. “What are we - Hey!”

He yelps, blinking in surprise, because there's a sharp tug, a shift in balance, and suddenly he's being scooped up in strong arms, bridal style.

“The hell,” he stammers. “What the hell are you doing, Jason?”

Jason gazes down at him, the glint of mischief unmistakable even through the lenses of his mask. He shakes Tim a bit, but his grip is sure around Tim's knees and back. “Why, seems pretty obvious. I'm carrying you. And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Hold on tight, princess.”

Tim really, really wants to punch Jason right now. Still, he winds one hand around Jason's neck, clutches Jason's jacket and armor with the other. He looks to the left, sees that they are heading straight towards the balcony door.

The balcony door.

Understanding dawns.

“No, you're not doing that,” he says, wriggling in Jason's grasp.

“Oh, but I am.” Jason, the infuriating bastard, has the nerve to cock his brow at him. “Relax, Timbo.”

He takes long, purposeful steps, pushes through the door, wings already unfurling, and, without breaking his stride, leaps onto the low marble railing.

“Jason.” Tim tries to reason with him one last time. “You don't know how to fly, how to use –“

The rest of Tim's words get lost in the rapid rush of air, in the pull of gravity that yanks at his limbs, at his clothes. They are plummeting down – of course they are. Not that Tim had much hope of stopping Jason from diving head first from the balcony in the first place.

Tim's heart lurches in his chest, panic surging, but then the red-black wings snap out, extending to their full span. They sweep down in measured, graceful strokes, and the chaotic momentum of the fall breaks and slows down. 

“Told you to relax, didn't I?” Jason asks, smug. 

Tim doesn't answer, too angry to form a coherent reply. Still, he cannot even cling to his fury because his gaze is drawn to Jason's wings, towering above, and his breath catches in his throat. 

Magnificent.

He looks back at Jason's face, sees the open joy in Jason's smile, no longer hidden behind all the usual posturing. And this too makes Tim's pulse race, makes his cheeks flush. He can feel the steady drum of Jason's heart, the warmth of Jason's skin, the steely strength of Jason's muscles, coiling with every beat of Jason's wings. 

He could stay like this forever, Tim thinks, dazed. Shielded by Jason's wings, safe in Jason's arms, being carried steadily up, through the dark expanse of a moonlit sky.

As if sensing Tim's thoughts, Jason tightens his embrace. He gazes down at Tim, silent, his expression unreadable, and then presses his lips to Tim's brow. 

Tim tilts his head up into the kiss, sighs.

But of course, it doesn't last forever. 

They land at the entrance to the Batcave and march inside, prepared to give a full report to Bruce. 

Their night flight, it seems, is already forgotten.

***

It's the middle of the night; the Wayne Manor is silent and dark.

And yet Tim is too wound up to rest. Instead, he is wandering down the hall, his mind still whirling with thoughts.

The case is closed; the Birdcatcher is currently locked up in GCPD custody. Bruce examined Jason, declared that the wings didn't have any obvious detrimental effects on Jason's health, and promised to consult Zatanna on how to dispel the magic that created them in the first place.

Tim feels a pang of regret at that, irrational and completely misplaced.

He knows damn well he doesn't have the right; it's Jason's body that was transformed against Jason's will, it was Jason who was imprisoned in that cage.

Still …

When he closes his eyes, the images and sensations instantly spring up: the edges of Jason's wings, painted silver with moonlight, Jason's carefree smile, the warm press of his lips against Tim's skin.

And Tim, selfish, hopeless fool that he is, yearns to have it all back.

Not that Jason would ever …

He's so lost in his daydreams that he doesn't even realize he's stopped in front of Jason's room.

Tim stares at the door, frowning. Right, Jason's room. Bruce insisted that Jason should stay the night at the manor, and, strangely, Jason agreed without making a fuss.

Tim lingers, touches the gleaming wood just above the door handle.

Selfish, hopeless fool, he tells himself. 

He's about to turn away, when the door opens.

“Now, this is getting creepy,” Jason says, leaning against the door frame. He's just in his boxer shorts, and the tips of his wings peek out above his shoulders. 

“I didn't mean to end up here,” Tim replies, trying not to get distracted by Jason's nakedness. “I'm not stalking you.”

“Sure, Timbo.” Jason gives him a knowing smile. “Permanent Bat insomnia, huh? Me too. Come in, then.”

Tim follows Jason inside. 

Curious, he sweeps his gaze over the room. It's spacious, tastefully furnished – no different from the other rooms at the manor, in that respect – but also full of little details that were obviously added by Jason himself. Tim notices dog-eared copies of King Lear and Pride and Prejudice on the bookshelf, and the holsters with Jason's guns left on the desk. 

“It's these things, right?” Jason points at his wings. “That's why you can't sleep? Thinking about them?” 

Tim nods. That's a true enough reason as to why he's so restless.

Jason rubs at his forehead, sighs. “Well, they are keeping me awake too.”

Tim hesitates, and asks. “Do you want to get rid of them?”

“Honestly? I don't know.” Jason furrows his brow, looks to the side. “They can be pretty useful, I guess. Well, apart from that thing where I have to stay shirtless all the time because my clothes don't fit anymore.”

Tim clears his throat. “Maybe Zatanna can modify the spell. Make them appear and disappear at will, or something like that.” He keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on Jason's face, doesn't let them glance at Jason's naked chest.

“Maybe.” Jason considers him in silence. The moment stretches, grows, until it brims with tension, and something dark flickers in Jason's gaze. “Do you want to touch them?”

What?

Tim stares at Jason. He should refuse, he thinks, get out before he does something damning.

But the answer tumbles out of Tim's mouth, unbidden. “Yes.”

Jason casts another unfathomable look at him, then walks over to the bed and stretches there on his stomach. “Go on then.”

And, like a moth drawn to a flame, Tim obeys. 

He sits on the bed, leans over Jason. Up close, the sight is almost overwhelming – rows upon rows of tightly pressed feathers, crimson and black, and the soft glow of the bedside lamp ignites even more colors and shades in their depths. A silky, glossy waterfall, rippling with every slow breath that Jason takes. 

Tim's hand trembles as it hovers just scant inches over Jason's right wing. 

Finally, he skims his palm over it, and the red-black plumage is like velvet, thick and warm, and supple. Fascinated, he rubs the edge of one feather between his fingertips, then moves on to trace a path to the root of the wing.

Jason's shoulder blades tense at that, and his powerful back arches into Tim's touch.

“Jason?” Tim whispers, awed and a tiny bit scared.

“Feels good,” Jason replies, and his voice is low and slightly husky. 

So Tim brushes his fingers again over that spot where the wing connects to Jason's body, where Jason's blood is pulsing strong and steady. Another tremor shakes through those wide shoulders, and Tim glances up, at Jason's nape, exposed and strangely vulnerable, at the black hair curling there. 

“I ...” He licks his lips. 

Before he can finish the sentence, Jason is already turning towards to him, the wings rustling against the sheets. 

“Timmy,” he says, and his eyes are a deep indigo blue, intent and full of want.

His hand catches Tim's, squeezes. Their fingers lace together, and then it's just one gentle tug, and Tim is falling back into Jason's embrace.

Jason rolls them over in one fluid motion, braces his weight on his forearm. Tim looks up at him, panting, almost dizzy with need.

“Yes,” he says.

Jason lowers his face to Tim's, and the first tentative brush of their lips almost makes Tim sob with relief. But it's not enough, not with all the pent up emotions that he's felt for Jason for so long, so he frames Jason's jaw with both palms, locks his ankles around Jason's waist, and deepens the kiss, pushing and stroking with his tongue.

When they part for air, Jason stares at Tim in disbelief, his cheeks pink, and his mouth all shiny and red.

“That much? That impatient?” he asks, and he sounds stunned. 

“You have no idea,” Tim says and pulls him down into another hungry kiss.

Safe, he feels safe. Never let me go, he thinks, straining up against Jason's body. Stay with me.

Jason's wings descend, enveloping them both in a soft, warm canopy of red-black silk.


End file.
